Papa's Good Boy
by Aranel Naur
Summary: A heart-to-heart conversation between the Fujiwaras. A talk during which a piquant detail of Takumi’s private life come into view. Implied RyouTaku.


**A/n:** there's hardly a fic devoted to Fujiwara Bunta or Takumi and his father's relationships. I've always felt attraction to this chain-smoking character of the older Fujiwara as if he is a mystery, though sometimes seeing him smoking nonstop makes me so sick I feel like vomiting (no joking)

Well, my fantazy gave another quirk the other day and as a result this piece of writing was born. Dunno why but I like it)

R&R, plz

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Papa's Good Boy

Fujiwara Takumi scrutinized himself looking at his reflection in the mirror. There was nothing extraordinary about his appearance: the same features, same body shape and height, all the same. And yet he felt absolutely different, to the point of not recognizing himself, he was almost 100 per cent sure something about him has changed.

It's been a week since the fateful event when he lost his virginity. Not sweet and not simple. Somehow he's always deemed the influence would be so strong it would cause alterations on external level, even a few days later, though, not a trace of newness revealed. Other than that, he might be too stupid to believe in tales. Oh, silly Fujiwara, he'd never be lucky to get rid of mental naïveté.

The boy suddenly became aware of another aspect of the recent act, never-ending nagging sensation between his from time to time shaking legs couldn't but annoy. He wished somebody had warned him about insomuch bothersome consequences, he winced at the realization. Not that it seriously bugged Takumi, but still he'd rather have chosen a more comfortable position for the first time. However, then again, he wasn't the one to decide, the partner, to his mind, skillful enough to make his own decisions.

Fortunately, the young man's father missed half-transparent hints at his weird conduct, or at least he guessed so. For a couple of times he noticed the old man's odd cursory glance but hopefully it had nothing to do with suspicions. Ahh, blind hachi-roku driver, if only you were a tad wiser! No doubt, phrases like 'Takumi, wait a minute' or 'Hold on, son, I need to tell you something' were not at all groundless, this done to once again make sure there were one-two things wrong about the boy. After several tries of such regular checks Bunta made right conclusions. Unlike his teenage child the man wasn't that foolish to not pay attention to slow pace and unwillingness to move and constant 'umm'ing' each time Takumi got up, what seemed funniest was the way he now sat into the car – one sharp quick flop down not stirring nor producing any additional motion, robot-like manner truly puzzling. Besides, the guy's been acting very peppery recently. Needed Bunta other explanations? He wasn't born yesterday, after all.

He only smirked wondering how come his boy had changed sexual preference. If my memory does not fail me, he mused, he used to date a girl… On the other hand, what else could he expect of a boy who was moving in the circles of racers all the time, where women were few and often laughed at, no matter how well-tuned or dangerously painted their cars seemed. Partly it was his fault to have introduced his son to 'men only' society. And this new 'side family' called the Takahashis… he spent more time with the brothers than at home. Hmm, there was little to no doubt left that on top was one of them, Bunta inwardly chuckled imagining possible pairings. Of all variations coming to his currently working mind Takahashi Ryousuke appeared the most clinging: tall, handsome, smart, responsible, serious and an excellent driver – such inference made after witnessing him and his skills, this turning sufficient to form a good opinion. His knowledge and experience in another sphere were a mystery, though. But perhaps Takumi was better informed of it, and now he gave a small chuckle aloud. Nevertheless, that dark-haired Comet was Bunta's choice for Takumi, and that he couldn't force on the youngest.

The said lingered at the threshold taking off the shoes before stepping barefoot on the floor and not looking at the person at the table whispered something barely reminding 'Tadaima' and made his way upstairs afterwards. This done not completely since the calm – and with a grain of unusual curiosity, as Takumi observed – voice inquired,

"Feeling any better?"

Inner gasp – wide eyes – open mouth – creeping blush – and he got speechless, never in his life has he been asked a question like this.

"Since you behave in an expecting-mother-like way I quit smoking," - Bunta yet-visibly grinned.

"O… oyaj…" - Takumi's throat gone dry all of a sudden.

"Sit down," - the man requested hiding the ash-tray under the table showing he wasn't going to poison the boy's lungs being as he recently got sick and irritable breathing cigarette smoke. – "If it doesn't overly hurt you."

Words not enough to describe the Trueno driver's state – suspicions mixing violently, restless mind contriving an awful lot of ideas as he started to count swallows made to relax, red face giving him in, none the less, dammit.

"Driving aside, do you know what your recent occupation may lead to?" – he sighed watching the other who carefully sat down in front, in the light grey-blue eyes helplessness shone with obvious intensity.

"I have no notion what you are tal…"

"You do have both notion and experience as far as my eyes can see," - his father interrupted, then paused, innuendo of the remark clear.

The situation far from commonplace for the both, they rarely talked longer than ten minutes, not to mention such an intimate topic of conversation. If the teenager could measure his pulse at the moment he would be surprised, to put it mildly. Rarely has he felt embarrassment on a level close to this, blood flooding up to his cheeks, face burning, head spinning, no reasonable answer to squeeze out.

"What I'm asking you is to be careful and attentive dealing with such…" - the parent stammered picking out suitable, inoffensive and understandable sentences. - "…things. You know what I mean."

The second hang head, fighting back or lying so useless that he preferred to keep silent.

"Promise me. And not that I'm acting overprotective, it's just…" - he reached back into his pocket retrieving a transparent vial, this followed by a sort of whine from the person in front of him, but Bunta went on. – "Here. Take it."

Things couldn't be worse as the youngest screwed up his eyes to hide from glaring awkwardness – right before, in the centre of the little wooden table rested a tube of flavored lube. Jesus Christ, to be put to shame by the relative, and in what way! His own father bought him a bottle of lubrication!

Had he been so brainless to let Dad see what had happened? Was he acting, speaking, walking so shadily and causing distrust? It felt like catastrophe, no less. Pulling himself together, Takumi, not raising his eyes, replied quietly,

"I don't… need… such things."

"You do, the other may not," - he stressed the first word.

The brunette remained confused, still, humiliated, cursing his stupidity again and again.

"Now take it and go to your room," - that said, Takumi hurriedly got up grabbing the item from the table and storming off upstairs, such haste provoking an error he missed.

Luckily, the young man got there without falling or any other lamentable incident, the door slammed, hateful container thrown into the corner, panting and collecting senses he sat with his back against the shut obstruction.

Bunta lazily stood up from his seat after two long minutes of expectation, finally catching that his son wasn't coming back for the dropped object.

Takumi-Takumi, shy and impulsive at times, the Fujiwara sighed stretching his arm for a tiny sheet of white paper lying on the floor where his son had sat a moment ago – the piece had fallen out of his pocket and, intrigued, Bunta couldn't help examining it. A second later as the squinted eyes registered the written information, his lips curved in an exquisite and a very self-pleased smile. He returned the secret tad on its previous spot assured that Takumi would soon search for it, and remembered even black kanji's of a perfect handwriting, so unlike his son's,

'Hope you are ready for a next try at my place. T. R.'

"Papa's good boy," - he purred for his son not to hear. – "You've made the best choice."

Taking a newspaper in his hands and a lit nicotine stick into his mouth the man was able to take a long satisfying drag at last… He felt relieved. Life was back to normal again.


End file.
